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目錄

封面
（導讀）黑暗中高舉的蘆葦火炬 ——試讀《大海
之眼》／陳敬介
（自序）尋找生產尊嚴的島嶼 ——我在現場
驅除魔鬼的靈魂
在人間消失兩次
航海在迷惘中
失落在逐夢的歲月
我選擇了海洋的古典文學
足跡
版權
（導讀）
黑暗中高舉的蘆葦火炬
——試讀《大海之眼》

陳敬介

自夏曼‧藍波安出版《八代灣的神話》（一九九二）及《冷海情
深》（一九九七）以來，便一直是他的忠實讀者與朋友，一九九九年
我撰寫了第一篇關於原住民文學的評論，便是受到《冷海情深》一書
的啟發與感動。最初的感動是他為何選擇回歸祖島蘭嶼，選擇原初的
生活方式，當時的我，認為他這個選擇的最大價值是「凸顯了一個生
命可以在忠於自我、實踐自我的前提下，選擇其獨立而堅定的生存方
式，拋棄了俗定的生命價值及生活方式制約的勇氣；這樣獨立而崇高
的生命實踐，遠勝於龐大而虛懸的抗爭與口號。文化的存在與壯大，
憑藉的不是施捨式的保護措施，而是堅定且源源不絕的實踐生命。」
現在回想起來，當時在情感上的激動是真實的，但最後也只不過成為
書桌前的浪漫想像文字。我感佩他的勇氣，但實際上我做不到與俗定
生命價值與生活方式制約的抗爭，而且是窮盡其一生。

夏曼‧藍波安的大伯說過一段話：「在陸地上，人們往往都放大了
汪洋上安全的密度指數，濃縮降低駭浪的險惡，因為那個海他們不曾
摸過。」相同的，大部分的讀者不了解達悟族的文化，不了解夏曼‧藍
波安筆下的野性海洋，不了解夏曼或調侃或憤怒或憂鬱的國族霸凌與
宗教殖民主題，以不了解為開端總是充滿想像的，不了解不是錯誤，
以開放的心態不預設立場的閱讀，或許你獲得的不僅僅是愉悅，而是
更多真實的感動。
 《大海之眼》便是這樣的一本奇書，不專寫他的海洋經驗，而是
從驅逐惡靈的儀式開始，以孩童齊格瓦的視角，引領讀者進入大海之
眼的世界。進而述說他兩次消失在人間的奇特經驗，以及在此經驗中
默示的單桅帆船航海的影像，如同浮光掠影，卻深植其「八識田
中」，成為其一念最初之本心的象徵。緊接著，他要從一九七三年到
台東就讀台東中學說起，直到他一九七六年高中畢業，卻毅然放棄保
送國立台灣師大音樂系與高師大英文系的機會，使他充滿海洋因子的
生命，開始了在台灣西部「流亡」四年，打工賺補習費，直至一九八
○年以一般生「正常」考上淡江大學法文系的血淚史。

對一九八○年後出生的讀者而言，對於他筆下七○年代的台灣是有
些陌生的，試以本書相關的大學錄取率而言，一九七六年二七．六
三％，一九七七年二八．九四％，一九七八年二八．三○％，一九七
九年二九．二五％，一九八○年二九．二五％，不到三成的錄取率與
現在的大學生滿街跑，近乎百分之百錄取的情形，簡直是天壤之別。
不了解不是問題，請嘗試著理解。即使以「打工」二字，意義也大不
相同。一九七○年代的台灣沒有便利商店，沒有連鎖茶飲店，沒有太
多的餐廳與加油站的工可打，沒有合法的勞健保，沒有「原住民」這
個相對中性的詞彙，只有山地人、番仔，以及專屬達悟族「鍋蓋」的
歧視字眼，還有在漢人主體社會普遍瀰漫生根的輕視心態。

在這艱困的七年中，他痛苦的讀漢人的書，寄宿在上帝代理人管
理的宿舍，甚至曾被規畫著當神父！十六歲的第一個寒假，即深入屬
於中央山脈知本區域的五十六林班，在閩南人承包商的剝削下度過了
七天的苦難折磨，領取區區五百六十元的工資。最令人感到驚嚇的
是，他們居然是坐著懸空式的溜索連同著木頭，越過三座山頭才平安
抵達卸木站。然而他說：「這兒的山，是台灣東部中央山脈的深山，
有著比我們島嶼山林更陰沉、更險峻，讓登山人迷向的山魂，讓人眷
愛不捨的清澈野溪，我們的父祖不曾踏查過的山神野林。」山林無
罪，可惡的是人心的貪婪與狹隘。

放棄了被保送的康莊大道，在一般人的正常思維是笨蛋，夏曼在
往後的搬運工悲慘歲月中，也時常懊悔、自怨自艾的說自己是笨蛋，
第四章〈失落在逐夢的歲月裡〉，從七月天的高雄火車站寫起，那是
一九七六年的盛夏，他黝黑的皮膚不畏懼陽光，卻畏懼台灣人的目光
——比黑色還黑的目光。他在車站即預視了達悟族人未來生存的幸福
指數，是在潮水低位。如同他這個來自東部外島蘭嶼的達悟人，可以
擁有的「大好前程，瞬間轉換，背棄了光明前程，從黑暗開始，從恐
懼開始，從哭泣開始。」那是比低水位還低的爛泥。

他短暫的在中和鐵工廠幾個月的工作之後，跟隨堂叔洛馬比克，
開始了他在西部縱貫線上隨著貨卡車移動，搬運肥料、滾燙的水泥、
裝箱的黑松汽水的苦力歲月。睡在豬圈雞舍般的屋內或是貨車內晃盪
的空瓶上，這樣的移動與晃盪不屬於海洋，沒有熟悉的族語慰藉，沒
有關愛的天空的眼睛，只有深埋的神話與夢支撐著。當苦力，存錢，
一九七七年好不容易到南陽街補習班補習，卻因沒有理財觀念的基因
迫使他再度投入苦力；聯考當天，車經民雄高中，畢業整整一年的夏
曼．藍波安，坐在貨車的空瓶上，而不是在考場的座位上，他流淚
了，憤恨的說，以自己的實力考上大學的夢想是一坨糞便……

一九七八年二月，再度來到補習班，但租賃的小屋卻被他的幻想
占領，無法靜靜讀書，「準備考試幾乎比潛水抓魚困難一萬倍，比搬
水泥痛苦一千倍」，夏曼‧藍波安坦承他的失敗，二十一歲的他，回到
他父母親人的懷抱，回到他靈魂可以安頓的島嶼，他短暫的遺忘屬於
台灣的苦澀，解脫了被歧視的悶氣，他應該放棄考大學了吧？他應該
沉迷在海洋的多彩吧？他那充滿海洋因子的血液，不適合在城市的陸
地流動吧？

然而他再度回到台灣台北，那個對他而言充滿國族霸凌、集體歧
視的世界；弔詭的是，彼時，這個世界中的閩南人其實也被少數的高
級外省人霸凌與歧視著，大多數的外省人盤據在黨、軍、公、教界，
閩南客家則是農、工、商界為多，原住民呢？戰後的世代，透過保送
加分進入大專院校，畢業後謀得好職業，被視為翻身、賺錢的最佳途
徑，同化論的國族認同教育政策，迫使原住民背離自己的族群文化，
在漢人的社會喪失自己族群的名字、語言，不管是哪一個族群，被統
一貶稱為番仔、山地人。唯一無法抹去的是外在的膚色，以及一張嘴
就露餡的口音。

然而他還是再度回到台灣台北，重複咀嚼煎熬的滋味，因為自己
頑固的尊嚴而拒絕成為師大生，只能蜷居於永康街的小房間品嘗自己
苦澀的眼淚，跑到新公園躲避補習班蒸便當的香味，與貧窮和自卑一
起蹲踞在水池邊欣羨飽食的鯉魚；即使有優雅愛戀的曉青幫忙複習功
課，但夏曼‧藍波安還是落榜了。憂鬱成了他的面膜，考試的雙手這次
要搬運鋼筋、緊綁鋼筋，為了省錢，他住在一個建築工地的地下室，
一方面繼續補習練習考試。

值得注意的是，曉青那沒有歧視的愛與平等的眼神，安撫了他的
內心，一句「你怎麼變成這副模樣！」讓他回想起兩次消失在人間時
產生的幻覺。事實上，曉青看到的是他一九七九年落榜後做苦力的悲
慘模樣，而不是在補習班苦讀的學生樣，因此產生極大的落差與訝
異；然而夏曼‧藍波安回想起的卻是，他乘坐一艘單桅的帆船航海的幻
覺，這個單純而美好的「幻覺」對他而言，可說是一種召喚與覺醒。
兩次的消失，一次在自家涼台下的角落，堆疊的五爪貝形成了一道柴
屋火房的外牆；另一次是在軍方灘頭的簡易茅草屋崗哨，玩得太累的
齊格瓦（夏曼‧藍波安的未為人父前的名字），披著軍用綠色外套睡著
了。而一九七九年落榜後做苦力的他，在幾位蘭嶼同學不知道的工地
地下室苦讀，其實也是另一種消失，在懊悔與迷失之路走得太累的
他，進入「第三次消失」，單桅帆船的航海心像讓他專注與安頓，這
次的消失不再需要被尋獲，夏曼‧藍波安自主的，走回家屋、走向灘
頭。屬於海洋民族的他終究要出海，在無垠海洋上尋找到屬於自己的
航道。

就夏曼‧藍波安而言，神話不只是故事，更是其生活與信仰的內在
核心；而這兩次神祕的消失經驗與幻象，「消失」與「被尋獲」：一
個是隱藏，另一個是開啟，兩者矛盾衝突，卻飽含生命力，充滿暗喻
與辯證的意義，終而成為他生命中重要的特殊元素與惱人的質地。如
同夏曼放棄了師大體系保送生的身分（另一種隱藏），卻選擇了靠己
身的勞力與智力，考取淡江法文系成為真正的「大學生」（另一種尋
獲）。他厭惡漢人的學校教育與知識體系，尤其是國小國中階段的教
育方式，但卻也開啟了他前往大島（台灣）的夢想。他堅持達悟海洋
民族的身分，卻不得不使用漢語書寫：對漢人歧視對待的控訴與憤
怒，以及自身海洋古典文學的實踐，而此「古典」，便是達悟族的傳
統。

夏曼‧藍波安在本書的開頭如此吟誦：

終究美好有時候存在，有時候遠走
我總是如此的反覆思索
但是我總是從懊悔起步
沒有一次不是如此的
 彷彿懊悔就像雲影雨聲
繫在我初始被啟蒙的心魂
去追尋懊悔之後的海洋

夏本‧藍波安是很會說故事的人，他在他的獨子夏曼‧藍波安要前
往大島讀書時，在從部落到碼頭的路上，說了好多好多的故事；夏曼‧
藍波安也是，他將生命中無盡追尋的故事，說給海洋族群的子子孫孫
聽，說給認同海洋，想了解海洋的異族讀者聽。這是他以漢語直譯的
達悟文學，然而語言本身實在無法「準確」翻譯，因為族群語言與自
然環境、信仰、歷史、價值觀有著深刻的連結。在漢族語言、文化、
價值觀與達悟族深刻差異如海溝的情形下，他嘗試連結甚至跨越，又
堅持其本質上的差異。這又是另一個不得不的兩難。

海洋的心魂曾經在台灣西部的城市與道路迷失困頓，曾經愛過、
悔恨過，面對過無數的歧視與欺騙，也獲得許多的鼓勵與關懷，四十
年過去了，睜開益發澄澈的大海之眼，重新回顧與觀照，曾經跌宕起
伏的波峰與波谷，已是一片波光無垠。

而他的故事，也將成為另一個座標，如同Tao人之島上，那座高約
二十公尺的巨岩，這塊巨岩曾被漢人以輕蔑的有色眼光命名為玉女
岩，而達悟族人或稱此為Jimavonot，蘆葦束之意，因為從外海看向這
塊岩石，如同矗立於海岸的一束蘆葦火把，我想，就以這塊蘭嶼奇岩
為這篇文字，下一個最後的註腳吧！

即使只是蘆葦火炬，
也不臣服於夜色的包圍。
倔強的星火，
在暗黑中如此微弱，
卻又如此明亮。

（本文作者為靜宜大學中文系副教授）
（自序）
尋找生產尊嚴的島嶼
——我在現場

「哇！真的厲害。」我們一群當時的蘭嶼國中的男同學在現場，
目睹「這一幕」，我們共同發出的驚嘆號。

從一九六七年到一九七三年，我們認識了356「登陸艇」（軍
艦）。356真的是勇猛的鐵殼船，它讓我們大開眼界。它的到來，我們
的島嶼變成「國家」的土地、我們民族變成山地山胞，我念大學的身
分後來變成邊疆民族。它的到來，帶來了漢族歷史上對少數民族不滅
的暴力，阻斷我們海洋民族的對他者的友善。

《大海浮夢》（二○一四，聯經）、《大海之眼》（二○一八，印
刻），都是我在蘭嶼國校、國中時期，就已經在腦海裡幻想可以實現
的願望。這個想像，就是356，「我在現場」給我視覺上的震撼，透過
視覺的想像，轉換孕育成我個人的「夢之旅」。本書的序文，不是要
探索356登陸艇帶給蘭嶼島整體性的劇烈變化，而是從世界殖民史的角
度，理解一個殖民者的國家武力，透過其自我圓謊的行政網絡的「哲
學」，合理化了國家暴力的圖章，以及更多的「歧視政策」，國際化
的正義。少數民族的正義，蕩然無存，是阻礙國家多數人（侵犯弱
者）的正義發展，諸如土地、語言，因為我們在現場，可以初步理
解。世界殺戮的歷史、正義永遠是邪惡集團的「聖經」，血淋淋的雙
刃寶劍，何來轉型？

我想說的是，356每一次在我部落灘頭登陸，每一次都會讓我浮現
「消失在人世間兩次」時所見到「單桅帆船」的幻影幻象，彷彿是我
自己命格的預兆，為什麼？為什麼會實現呢！

我不知道我蘭嶼達悟籍的同學，或者是你（妳）是否曾經有過這
個「困擾」？蘭嶼國小辦公室裡的世界地圖，太平洋（大洋洲）是被
切一半的，我看不見完整的太平洋，我要問的是，「太平洋」為什麼
會被漢人學校切一半，關於這一點，一直很讓我難過，從我十歲開
始，真的一直很難過，極為困擾我。直到我人類學研究所畢業，去了
南太平洋的庫克群島國，在拉洛東加島（Rarotonga）（從紐西蘭的奧
克蘭機場向東飛五小時）的小書店，買了一張屬於大洋洲的世界地
圖，赫然看見了以太平洋為中心的完整版的世界地圖。

對我而言，才遇見了「太平洋的尊嚴」。我心魂真的才回到喜
悅，才解開太平洋被切割的疑惑、痛苦，是漢人不喜歡太平洋嗎？還
是因為台灣、中國大陸在太平洋的邊緣，才把太平洋切一半嗎？這是
答案嗎？我不知道。當我打開了那張世界地圖，我高興得哭了，我問
自己，我為何如此在意太平洋被切割呢？那時我已經四十八歲了，難
過了三十八年，原來我屬於這群人，這群島嶼，這汪洋一片的海世
界，海洋民族。我也才頓悟，在蘭嶼國校念書時，老師極力嚇阻我們
去游泳的理由，就是那群被放逐在蘭嶼的漢族老師，他們恨死了海
洋，「鄉愁、鄉仇」。

對於居住在太平洋上的任何一個島嶼，大航海時代，殖民者的降
臨，無論是麥哲倫[1]在一五二一年來到了關島（Gua Ham），揭開了
藍色水世界的謎語，或者是，一次、二次大戰之後，所有的島嶼開始
被洗牌，包括語言加入殖民者之語彙，所謂的與原始環境共生的「尊
嚴的活著」的文明，瞬間轉化為殖民者飯後叼根雪茄的「笑話」，運
用356「刪除民族記憶的圖騰」。
 西方來的神父來到我們島嶼後，他的「上帝」解構了我們的「天
神」疼愛環境的潔淨儀式，說祭祖儀式是上帝不允許的活動，我於是
開始質疑所有外來者來我們島嶼的目的——來歧視我們的，我也失去
了童年知性記憶的美麗，不可能再複製的環境潔淨（驅除惡靈）的儀
式，外來宗教、殖民國帶來愈多「東西」，包括政策（全球的少數民
族），帶給許多許多弱勢民族內部的分裂離子愈複雜，部落民就愈不
幸福。在所有我走過的少數民族的領土及海洋民族的島嶼上，都獲得
一模一樣的答案。這是不需爭辯的事實。

我在現場。「興隆雜貨店」也因國家的「行政轉型正義」登陸到
我居住的部落，搶地開店，不僅來了許多比我頭髮多的雜貨，也帶來
了詭譎的空氣氛圍。胖胖的、十分肉感的閩南女人，化解了中國國民
黨黨員與中國共產黨黨員在她店裡飲酒解鄉愁，為了自己的「黨」爭
辯到動干戈的剎那間，她以女性的「雙峰」瞬間融化大陸來的「雙
黨」深深深的鄉愁，再次讓他們坐下來暢談中國人民歷史的偉大。我
在現場，當下無法理解雙峰的「解藥」在哪，但我開始預感356以及
「興隆雜貨店」將帶來遮蔽陽光的烏雲，模糊了我們民族的視覺判
斷，但也啟發了我，讓我立志靠自己考高中、大學。

高中時，我寄宿在天主教在台東培育偏遠學子念大學的「培質
院」，高二升高三的輔導課期間，神父跟我說：

「我要訓練你成為蘭嶼島上的第一位『神父』。」

我聽了差一秒就暈過去，於是哽咽地回答：

「我要當漁夫，不要當神父。」

「沒出息。」神父怒道。
 許多「文明人」喜歡以她（他）們的核心認知當弱勢者的「馴化
者」，無論他們說當飛行官、當律師、當醫師、當牧師、當老師等
等，我的心魂絕對是拒絕的，後面這四個「師」，在我個人的認知皆
歸類為騙人的職業。漫漫之路，不長也不短，當我大學畢業，回到蘭
嶼定居，寫了一本《冷海情深》給神父，神父當下題字寫道：

「返璞歸真。」又說：「神父看不懂你寫的書。」原來神父也看
不懂海洋，我說在心裡。他把書退還給我，歧視我的眼神依然銳利。

二○○五年一月，我在南太平洋庫克國的首都拉洛東加島的市集與
我的房東閒逛，那兒有個開放式的搭篷舞台，給不同宗教信仰的牧
師、神父傳誦西方上帝的教義。我看見的結論是：西方白人牧師或神
父，並不因為當地人的改信，當了神父，當了牧師，即使是穿著共同
的宗教褓衣，白人眼裡高高在上的傲慢依然滲透著很深很深的種族歧
視。我信仰多元的神，但我更厭惡歧視眼神背後的傲慢，畢竟那絕對
不是上帝的旨意。

我不是在緬懷逝去的童年，緬懷在台東中學，青少年的美好滋
味，也不是在抱怨在台灣西部、北部的苦力生涯，而是在喜悅自己迸
出的血汗生涯，許多的際遇，許多的故事，是自己感受，自己承受，
也自己感動。

當下，我書房隔壁住著帶我去嘉義做苦力的，帶我進入水世界獵
魚的堂叔，老海人洛馬比克，他深夜每一次自己灌醉自己的生活模
式，我看在眼裡，叔叔生活的循環模式，我跟他的數字距離約莫是二
十餘公尺，然而他幾乎每一次對著米酒瓶，用力大聲嘶喊叫道：

「你把我灌醉、你把我灌醉……你最壞，你最毒。」事實上，是
他自己灌醉了自己，每一次臭罵米酒瓶，每一次的深夜，每一次深夜
都讓我哭笑不得，然而，這句話，卻讓我身為作家有更深的人生感
悟，這樣的人，你在台灣、南北美洲、格陵蘭任何一個原住民族的部
落都有，我都遇上了。我是作家，我喜歡探索「尊嚴還活著的人」，
實寫真情探索者，努力中。

我在現場。興隆雜貨店，那位十分有肉感加性感的老闆娘，一九
七一年，洛馬比克每一次幫她搬運台灣來的貨輪上的雜貨，老闆娘都
給他啤酒喝，每一次他都拒絕。一九八四年，他從台灣回蘭嶼定居，
開運送核能廢料的聯結車，開始喝一箱又一箱的B魯（啤酒），到現
在喝一杯二十CC的米酒就醉了的他，「你把我灌醉、你把我灌
醉……」，我不敢尋找「那個」答案。那是我們集體性的長篇小說。

他每一次心情好，在午後，腋下便夾著會自動變調的吉他，自彈
自唱，唱著他四十年前，拿吉他教我們唱的歌「海～鷗～飛～翔，潮
起、潮落……」。我自己終究又被他逼著笑了，但他不曾知道我笑
了，因為他是一個人的世界，不是世界裡的一個人，他的黃金歲月被
遺忘了，被遺忘得非常乾淨，但我忘不了他，幾年後，我或許會親自
埋葬他的肉體，但我不會土葬他給我的傳統性的海洋知識。

當我一個人站在格陵蘭努克市某個大賣場的角落，觀察幾位依奴
依特人兜售簡陋的二手三手貨，他們相互傳送一個杯子，從一千CC裡
的保溫杯倒進一個鋼杯，那是黑咖啡。每一次每一個人接過鋼杯，雙
手掌首先是揉一揉鋼杯，因為鋼杯有溫度，可以溫暖他們乾澀的手
掌，也溫暖他們的心肺。我靜靜地觀察他們的表情，那個景致際遇，
在台灣的冬季，你也可以在阿里山、新竹五峰鄉、宜蘭大同鄉，任何
一個山裡的部落，可以發現圍著火爐的一群人，在火舌上摩擦手掌來
保暖，我們不知道，他們討論的世界是什麼？但是，我很肯定的說，
他們的世界距離冰川浮冰、高山地表的感情最近，尊嚴的活著是我們
這群人的「聖經」。

我在現場，我淺淺的微笑了，終於把太平洋的完整容顏，懸掛在
我獨立的書房，告訴我的航海家族之魂：「我們的世界完整了」，我
是世界島嶼作家，海洋民族的海洋文學家。

完稿於蘭嶼島
二○一八年八月十七日

1.費南多．德．麥哲倫（葡萄牙語：Fernão de Magalhães；西班
牙語：Fernando de Magallanes, 1480-1521），葡萄牙探險家，
為西班牙政府效力探險。一五一九至一五二一年率領船隊首次
環航地球，死於與菲律賓當地部族的衝突中。雖然他沒有親自
環球，但他船上餘下的水手卻在他死後繼續向西航行，回到歐
洲。↺
驅除魔鬼的靈魂

那是個我記憶裡的美麗年代
也是我的記憶正在彩繪
剛開始認識的世界

有時在心中的中心
有時在中心的邊緣
終究美好有時候存在，有時候遠走
我總是如此的反覆思索
但是我總是從懊悔起步
沒有一次不是如此的
彷彿懊悔就像雲影雨聲
繫在我初始啟蒙的心魂
去追尋懊悔之後的陽光

在我進入華語學校的前一年，也是我民族年曆飢餓季節的開始，
也稱之等待飛魚來臨的季節（Amyan [1]）。這季節裡的首月稱之
Kapituwan [2]，而，這個月的第一夜過後的清晨就是我們的Pazos日
（祭拜祖靈日），在海邊的灘頭祭祖儀式舉行之後，也就是我們民族
的鬼月了，達悟年曆邁入寒冷的冬季。這一年我的腦海記憶開始築
夢，也開始望海幻想神遊旅行，成了沉默的神經子，我遠眺冬季灰色
的海洋，說給自己聽：我願是那片海洋的魚鱗。

那一天的清早，我們部落前方遙遠的海平線拉開了天宇的白色門
簾，微光像是宇宙的畫筆，讓我部落面海的東方、北邊、西邊的山頭
浮現其凹凸不變的形貌；傳說中，我部落左方，即東邊的山頂有個突
出lalitan [3]的地方，那些lalitan翻譯成華語就是火山岩漿。火山岩漿噴
流了九年，讓島嶼四周的岩漿蘊成幾處奇岩亂石，後來有一位性情暴
躁的魔鬼Si Vawuyou（西伐巫右），祂承受不住經年累月的火山岩漿
炙熱的高溫，就命令小小魔鬼從遠方高處噴尿，企圖澆熄火山口岩
漿，小小鬼噴尿噴了九年，火山口才被熄滅。之後火山口成了Tataw，
就是惡靈在陸地小島上的海洋，西伐巫右把池潭比喻成海洋，後來就
在這個陸地山頂的池潭天天游泳，練習泳技，憋氣潛泳，祂希望有一
天可以走下去環抱小島的大海游泳。祂自學游泳到了九年 [4]的時候，
認為在惡靈的海洋游泳已經無法滿足祂，終於下到真的大海，祂一到
海裡游，發現海裡有許多許多魚類，很自在的、很自由的過生活，沒
有領袖，也沒有階級，完全是自由而平等的世界，祂非常喜歡，說就
是喜歡過自由自主的生活。祂在海池裡游到第九年的這一天，天神請
求祂治理祂的魔鬼部落，說那些小小魔鬼沒有了首領，已經不聽話
了，開始騷擾島上的活人，讓活人夜夜不得安寧。然而，祂已經不願
意回陸地當魔頭，水世界裡絢麗的珊瑚礁奇景勝過島嶼陸地的林木花
草，於是央求天神：祢就讓我管理海洋生物、魚類吧，求祢把我變成
伐巫右，管理水世界裡的魚類社會。天神思索了祂的請求，認為可
行，於是天神把祂變成Vawuyou [5]，成了海神。
 這個傳說故事，就是發生在這一天。天神託夢給活人石系的一位
耆老，說：你們要在這一天去海邊灘頭，帶食物祭拜你們的海神、你
們的善神，以及孤魂野鬼。當你們從海邊回到部落的時候，在你們家
屋的屋頂也擺上相同的祭品，那些供品就是給你們剛逝去的祖父母。
等到夕陽快下海的時候，你們就要穿戴驅魔武裝，帶著長矛，驅除回
到你們活人部落拿食物的魔鬼，你們必須驅趕祂們回陰間，天上的仙
女看到你們在驅魔，祂就會開門讓孤魂野鬼進入祂們的陰間世界，你
們即可安心工作，過真人的生活。這就是Pazos，驅除魔鬼的由來 [6]。
我是這樣聽我的祖父說的。

這一天父親在我們不到八坪大的茅草屋忙裡忙外的腳步聲喚醒了
我。我身上披著一件綠色的很溫暖的外套，這一件外套也是我的被
子、我出門禦寒的大衣，大衣可以包住我全身，但我並不知道外套是
來自於美軍，或者是台灣軍人。父親看我了一眼，我於是從屋廊的木
板上起身，把營養不好的身子靠在木板牆，右手揉揉眼睛，看著屋外
稀疏的，似是蜘蛛織網般的雨絲。雨絲也許下了一整夜，也許是下下
停停，停停下下，把我家小院子的比我腳掌大的鵝卵石都弄濕了。我
的雙眼被厚厚的眼屎遮蔽，還未完全睜開，我努力的擦掉眼屎，然而
還是有些眼屎遺留在眼角、睫毛上。我專注看著雨水從茅草屋頂末梢
滴落，雨水偶爾被微風吹得偏離滴落在鋁製水桶的大口徑，風停的時
候，雨水就直落在水桶裡。水桶內的雨水就是我們全家四口漱口、洗
臉用的水源 [7]。父親在桶內放了他切割一半的椰子殼，另一半吊在門
廊的木板上，父親會在閒暇時，製作成我們在節慶時吃小米用的椰殼
湯匙。我用左手舀起一瓢水洗淨眼角的眼屎，世界在我眼前即刻清
晰，這幾乎是我每一天的第一個動作，接著把臉貼在水桶裡吸一口大
水，咕嚕咕嚕的漱口，呸……，然後再拿個跟我食指一樣小的林投樹
的根莖，根莖的前端是父親用石頭敲碎而變得柔軟的鬚絲，吸一小口
的雨水，然後用鬚絲胡亂地洗刷牙齒，呸……漱口數回之後，嘴巴—
潔嫩的口腔，哇……舒服了。走出戶外，身心清爽的，挺直腰桿的望
著秋分漸漸憂鬱而灰灰的，有別於夏季亮麗而燦爛的海洋。我發現天
空的個性，雲朵的輕重，也是與夏季不同的，那些情境讓我特別有感
覺。因而每天海洋的情緒如何，就是它的顏色，翻開了我眼睛每一天
的視野，這也成了我從那個時候起的習慣，牽制、掌控我一大清早的
情緒。

四十多歲的父親，眼神放射出疼惜看著我，很嚴肅地跟我說，待
在家裡的涼台望海，今天是祭拜祖靈的日子 [8]，也是驅除孤魂惡靈的
日子。對惡靈而言，今天也是祂們年度的豐收節，你不可以亂跑。又
說，清晨之後也是天上的眾仙女女神，祂們年度的一天一夜的假日，
這個時候，白天就是魔鬼的晚上，祂們的白天就是我們真人的夜晚
[9]
，入夜前的黃昏就是許多魔鬼出來逛部落、逛海邊的日子。父親的
話，我記在心裡，我聽訓的回話。當然也讓我害怕魔鬼。

如蜘蛛網絲的雨水沿著我家茅草屋頂，順著茅溝到傾斜的末梢，
繼續滴落在鋁製的水桶內，填補了剛剛我漱口吐出的水，小妹順手舀
起清水，以食指當牙刷，讓她口腔也清爽了，我們並排靠在門廊木牆
望外。此時冷颼颼的風，灰暗的天空，灰色的海面，給我的感覺還真
的很陰森，很陰氣，好像真的是魔鬼的佳節似的。聽父親說完，真的
有魔鬼嗎？我幼稚的腦紋如此思索。在那一天的清晨，我其實不相信
有魔鬼的。
 媽媽也在屋內準備祭祖的供品。她拿一個藤製的篩羅（kazapaz
[10]
），在我們身邊的門廊木板上，墊上乾黃的姑婆葉，放入芋頭、山
藥、刺薯三種不同的根莖類，也是我們祭拜祖靈日時的食物，把這三
種食物煮熟，頭尾用刀子切成兩片，好像是東西半球的分開，之後放
在篩羅裡，再放上一片父親從大伯那裡拿的小乳豬的肉片、內臟。也
跟我說，今天是我們去世的祖父母回家來拿我們一年一次孝敬他們的
食物。齊格瓦 [11]，你不可以亂跑，因為今夜是小魔鬼最亢奮的日子，
最調皮的節日。我聽話，我不會亂跑，我也只能這樣說。黑夜裡有老
魔鬼、大魔鬼，以及跟我一樣小的小魔鬼，我笑了。身高不到一百五
十公分的媽媽，說：齊格瓦，你別笑，今夜，你必須尊敬小魔鬼。

Ku jastasira.

「我看不見祂們啊！」

Tumu piyana du Oned mu.

「你放在內心裡。」放在內心裡，我唸了一遍。

母親最喜歡跟我說她自編的鬼故事，她說的故事劇情很簡單，也
很短，大部分是小真人與小魔鬼打架的故事，最後都是活人勝利。我
於是提問：

Ina, manuyongamiyan so Anito do Pongso ta ya?

「媽媽，真的有魔鬼嗎？在我們的島嶼。」

Amiyan, moCigewat.
 「當然有。齊格瓦。」

Ni makasta ka rana mo Ina.

「你曾經看過魔鬼嗎？媽媽。」

Tumu peiwala ma do Uned mu.

「你就把它放在心裡休息。」

有許多事，是不需要說出來的。就像風雲雨的變換一樣，順著情
緒感悟即可。

父親穿著傳統節慶時穿的服飾，雖然今日是魔鬼的日子，傳統服
飾的穿著也是儀式的一種。父親身高一百七十多公分，算是我部落裡
身高數一數二的成人，壯而結實，右手持著彎月形，父親冶鐵自製的
刀，左手拿著也是他自製的籐製篩羅，篩羅圓口直徑約是八十公分，
家家戶戶的男人都必須自己編織的。胸前再佩戴金箔片、串珠，以及
自製的錐形銀帽，銀帽則蓋住篩羅內裡的祭品。他抱著篩羅走向最靠
近海邊的空地。父親的左右手肱部也各套上銀環，左腳腳踝上繫著單
線藍黃琉璃珠搭配的腳踝環，我看在眼裡很是喜歡的傳統裝扮，尤其
特愛父親腳踝上的環飾，就像部落裡「初潮的小女孩」，她的媽媽會
為她的頸子做一個Agalaw的環飾，宣示我家有女初長成似的。這些常
識是我祖母跟我母親說的，所以我小妹在我念了國中之後，母親為她
做了Agalaw的頸環。這種環飾的美在於它的自然性，散發某種平實的
貴氣。

我的朋友米特跑來我家，叫我跟他去沙浪外婆家的涼台，也是我
家的隔壁，說，我們去看Mipazos。沙浪外婆家的涼台四面無壁，十張
可以給大人坐下望海，或躺著睡覺大小不等的龍眼樹木板。茅草涼台
有六根很高的樁柱，架起來約是一百八十公分的高度，以及長長的走
上涼台的木梯，但挑高的涼台上已坐滿比我們大的青少年，我們只好
在涼台下找個好位置坐下觀賞儀式的進展。涼台下的空間不只我們三
個人，還有其他的，有坐著的，有站著的已是華語學校學生的大哥哥
們，算來也有七到八位。我們都用眼睛專注地看，用心深深地思索著
長輩們的一舉一動，彷彿我們這些活在人間的小鬼的心魂也是祭典儀
式的分子之一的樣子，摻雜著我們對未知的未來之想像。

我們的部落是這個四十八平方公里的小島六個部落裡最古老的，
但人口也是最少的，二次戰後，即使沒有台灣政府統計，我們也知道
我部落的人口是最少。部落裡所有有自製拼板船能力的男人，除了殘
障者外，每一個男人都必須按著古老的祭儀模式，穿著傳統服飾，配
戴uvay金箔片，提著kazapaz篩羅給祖靈的祭品。

說起來，那個空地就是台灣來的稱之台東縣警察局蘭嶼分駐所占
用的空地。然而空地的功能，就是平日警員訓練我們島嶼的年輕人成
為民兵，傳授「國家」 [12]軍訓思想，呼喊中華文化、中華民族萬歲萬
歲萬萬歲口號的練習場，無論如何的吶喊，包括我那一九三三年出生
的堂哥，也不知道萬歲萬歲萬萬歲是什麼意思，只是服從外來統治者
政令，在集合場地嬉笑。當然這個空地是在一八九九年日本武警從台
灣進駐我們部落，移走豬圈後，整理出來的。當然當年的日本武警也
強占了我曾祖父全家的家屋面積，我祖父五兄弟及一個小妹出生的
家。我曾祖父的那個茅草屋被夷平之後，日本武警給了我曾祖父一把
武士刀，那一小空地也就變成了我們島上第一所的番童學校教室，日
本武警說那是望海觀察敵艦最佳的地點，殖民者的記號，異族與統治
我們的紀錄開端。這是小叔公跟我說的故事。
 「齊格瓦，從我膝蓋誕生 [13]的孫子，那個時候，我已是青少年
了。有三個配著長槍、手槍，還有長長的刀（武士刀）的日本人來
了。他們的鐵殼船在我們部落外海下錨，我的父親，也就是你的曾祖
父，我們家族的十人大船划船出海去迎接那些有槍的Ipon（達悟人的
口語念法，指Nipon日本人），以及他們的四到六位的lamlamsui（奴
僕，應該是台東地區的卑南族、阿美族）。他們在部落左邊靠近墓場
的閒置地紮營了幾天之後，帶槍帶刀的kisat（武警）就命令我的爸爸
搬走，說他們要住在這個地方，就是我們的家。我的父親一直不肯答
應，於是一位武警就瞄準一頭豬開了槍，砰的一聲，那隻豬立刻倒地
死掉。然後他瞄準坐在屋頂抗議的我的父親，命令他下來，否則就開
槍，像那隻豬頭的命運一樣，「射殺」。我父親的憤怒只是肉體的怒
氣，臉部表情殺不死人，但是槍的生氣沒有預警，砰的一聲即可奪走
我父親的命。你的曾祖父最終屈服於槍管，受辱於有槍的外來者。我
們，那是我們第一次親眼目睹，不知名的「子彈」（達悟語沒有的詞
彙）就這樣很輕易地殺死任何動物。我父親的憤怒，只是尊嚴在生
氣，而且我們也無法用殺豬的刀去對抗殺人的武士刀，因而我們像豬
頭一樣沒有抵抗三位日本武警的實力，被逼拆屋搬走。那事件之後，
日本人就在原地蓋他們的房子，也蓋起教我們下一代學習日語的房
子，你的父親就是那個茅草屋教室學習日文日語的第一代。砰的一聲
就如天的小雷聲，是我們原始的蠻力、怒氣不可能阻止的。只能在部
落族人們的眼前默認我們的失敗，默認日本人強占我們的房子。」

當小叔公告訴我這個故事的時候，我可以感受到他的憤怒，但他
還是屈服於了武警的手槍下，讓他只剩憤怒。彼時那塊被族人夷平的
地，也成為部落族人祭拜祖靈日時分配外來物資，大家集合的地方，
好像是外來統治者與在地擁有者相互磨合的區域，很詭異的想像場
域。那個空地約莫是三分之二個籃球場的面積。

我們三人年紀還小，只能坐在涼台下方的鵝卵石上，中生代的男
人行動敏捷的先在那個空地等著走路較慢的長者耆老，反之，若是讓
長者等著中生代的年輕人，那個人將被視為目無尊長的人，所以中生
代如我父親這一輩的，都已坐在那兒等著其他的老人。每一年的這一
天是島嶼有船的男人，拿供品去海邊，那些是給天神的，給海神的，
給祖靈的。海邊灘頭成為島嶼男人祭拜祖靈的地方，在此商議陸地農
耕事務，如整修部落兩邊的傳統水圳、集體耕作種植小米，以及
mivanuwa [14]（建造灘頭的招飛魚儀式），商議獵捕飛魚的各項禁忌
的活動。

空地聚集的男人手上都有刀，都提著篩羅，篩羅也都被銀帽覆蓋
著祭品，每個男人的臉都十分嚴肅，嘴裡咀嚼檳榔，不發一語，從自
己的家屋出發，陸續走來空地，先到的就等著其他家的男人。米特的
父親，沙浪的父親，卡斯瓦勒的父親……還有我的叔父。我的父親，
在那個清晨也在那空地上靜坐。媽媽說，那是我們民族的傳統，小男
孩們也必須觀禮。祭祖靈的節日，不是舉家歡樂的好日子，而是我們
都在面對人的生死離別的循環，生與死的魚線長短（俗稱命運的長
短），在每一個人一出生的那一刻就已經記錄在天上仙女的生死記事
簿裡了，我祖父說，那是「自然法則」。

每一個都蹲坐著，面容嚴肅，那一天的天候吹著微冷的東北風，
天上的雲層如同海面一樣，都是灰色的，陽光被厚厚的灰雲遮蔽，任
性的陽光再如何的強悍，也無法穿透秋冬雲層的綿密細胞，彷彿集體
的陸海空環境氛圍直接表明了陰森的意象，這一天便是孤魂野鬼出關
的日子。對我們這些部落裡的小孩來說，是很壯觀的，也是我們每年
見習的部落生活中，最為詭譎的日子。明年某位族人沒有來參與的時
候，我們就會知道那位男人可能在生病，或者是已經去世了，那是很
清楚知道的。頗有「死亡」宣示之意味。那天早上媽媽也告誡我說，
不可以跟你的朋友開玩笑，否則小魔鬼會讓你的大腳拇趾踢到石頭，
你清純的鮮血，會從你嫩嫩的腳趾甲與肉的縫隙流出，知道嗎？這句
話，我也跟米特、沙浪、卡斯說了，我們同時摸摸自己沒有鞋子穿的
腳，緊緊地貼在一起，被一大清早陰森的氣氛及對小魔鬼出關的想像
掐住我們的愉快。彼時我們也聽不到涼台上的那些大哥哥們說話的聲
音，就如我們聽不到螞蟻走路的聲音似的，除去吸鼻涕聲音外，大夥
兒們都屏住呼吸，靜靜的觀看這一天的清晨所展演的活生生的戲劇。

最後是由我的大伯陪著他的大叔父，也就是我的大叔公，他們緩
緩的走來，銀帽也是蓋住篩羅裡的祭品牲肉，神情有些凝重，增添了
祭拜祖靈日的神祕與詭異，彷彿這個儀式之後，他就是明年的亡者的
感覺（他真的在隔年去世）。我的大叔公，他是當時我部落裡還有拼
板船者最年長的老男人。我拉長頸子，頂著涼台下的木板，凝視著我
祖父的大弟的一舉一動。他在部落中央最寬的石子路上走著，寬約是
兩公尺不等，路中央被豪雨，或是颱風帶來的豪雨自然鑿成的比兩邊
還低的雨水溝，部落耆老說是rarahan nu Cimei（雨水的路）。大叔公
走在地勢較高的右側，雨絲如蜘蛛吐出的網絲（沒錯）那樣的細線，
隨風飄散，風吹的雨斷斷續續的，斷了之後蜘蛛又把雨絲銜接起來的
感覺。他的步伐有些傾斜，彎曲的膝蓋已無法併攏相貼，骨頭僵硬
的，走路開腿的空隙讓小豬可以輕易的穿越在大叔公的胯下奔跑，綽
綽有餘，那雙腳不僅是成年勞動，肌理萎縮的證據，同時也是長者最
後尊嚴的顯影。他全身上下的樣子，就如警察分駐所所長所言的，真
的是「原始人」，暗黑色的身軀，已經衰弱的肌肉，鍋蓋形的髮型，
粗黑的頸子遺留幾道乾血跡，明顯是大伯用粗刀鈍刃幫他理的髮，菱
形彎曲的膝蓋，就是讓他走路緩慢的身體語言。大叔公、大伯的後
面，忽然跟來一個陌生人，疾步小跑似的，從我們部落最高的地勢，
一間嶄新的水泥屋竄出來，屋頂上豎立一個很結實的水泥十字架，那
個十字架我們稱它為Jujika，後來我們學會說華語，才知那個建築物就
是教堂，它在我們部落的最高處，那座山的腰部，我們的聚落在山的
膝蓋，因而Jujika似是風箏般的監視我們聚落的變換的感覺，讓我們感
覺不安。他的衣服全包裹著他的身子，我們第一次看到這樣的衣服，
那個人衣袍及膝，右手提著一本書，鞋上露出一雙小腿，他的臉跟我
們長得完全不一樣，鼻梁尤其高，眼珠是藍的，皮膚像是貝殼粉色，
我們著色雕刻船身所用的白色，他神情嚴謹的緊跟我大伯他們身後，
我們族人稱他為Si Simbusang [15]。神父來幹什麼？有人這樣問。當他
們走到了空地廣場，他就站在我大叔公身後，讓我大叔公心神不寧，
浮現不悅的面容。這之前，我們部落不曾有過外邦人干預我們的祭
儀。我大叔公一到現場，就站著，話語十分穩定，顫抖而有力的說：

Sira Uvaiyakeiliyannamen a kaktehnamen do Cinayi, manowji ta

rarake rana sututuwang, icyakmeikwajimakazyazyak, mangaUvay a
keiliyannamen.

「最晚的來到，是因為要整理我身體的骨頭，走起路來，緩慢了
許多，請大家，部落族人體諒。」接著又說：「大家都到齊的話，那
我們就按年紀的走下去海邊灘頭吧！」
 這個時候，剛來我們部落傳教的外國神父紀守常走到我大叔公面
前，就在我們這些小鬼的眼前，用達悟語跟我大叔公說：

mi nuzitamupa ji yama Ta Du Tuan.

「我們先跟『上帝』禱告，好嗎？」

蘭嶼分駐所所長穿著警服，腰間繫著厚皮帶，右邊是上了實彈的
手槍，很仔細、很仔細的觀看這些與漢族風俗完全相異的人。沙浪跟
我們說，他有pawuben，我們當時不知道那玩意就是手槍，我們都說
pawuben，就是會發出ㄆ一 ˋ ㄤ的聲音。他也走來我大叔公面
ㄤ、ㄆ一 ˋ
前，一副傲慢樣的想聽聽大叔公與神父的對話，但他聽不懂達悟語。
他們就在我們面前對話，Simbusang高出我大叔公兩個頭，穿著神父做
彌撒禮拜時的裝扮，他散發著白人自負的，為西方上帝服務的自信，
高高在上似的雙眼看著我大叔公，好似是星球上的征服者，又說：

Apiya a?

「可以嗎？」

冷風從我們部落的北方山頭吹來，壓不住我大叔公脾氣易怒的么
弟，他即刻從人群裡站了起來，先看了看他大哥的眼神，某種難言的
發自島嶼本性的古老氣質，藐視所長、怒視神父，大聲說：

Nyou pa nangaya.Sinukamuya!

「別干預我們固有的祭典。你們是何許人物啊！」
 Pinuziyan mu nyamen, sinu kaya.

「你憑什麼為我們禱告，你是誰啊！」

小叔公怒視外來的政治殖民者、宗教殖民者的態度，在那剎那
間，震撼了我原初而稚幼的心魂，那一幕是我人生的第一眼—小島主
人很優越的、很強悍的蔑視，對著代表兩種不同的殖民者身分的外邦
人。那一句話，「別干預我們固有的祭典」，具有很深層的民族意
識，聽在我耳裡，給了我人生命格，一對啟程旅行的航海槳舵，它根
植在我腦海。當下給了我的理智下了註解。

神父似乎理解我們這些原始人對西方宗教的不認識，也就沉默不
語了，順著當下的情境，收拾他的語言，不再想像做禱告了。這一
幕，對於我，影響非常巨大，一直到現在。那就是部落民族的「初始
信仰」，早有與自然環境律則相呼應的儀式文明，這種儀式文明的真
諦，就是儀式祭典是沒有優劣之別的，那是各個民族自有自己的世界
觀，自有自己的「上帝」。西方來的「神父」，帶著他們的上帝來殖
民其他民族的「上帝」。這是事實，同時從中南美洲一四九二年以後
的歷史，「聖經與槍砲」證實了一切的「暴力」，彷彿是《聖經》下
達的指令。

警察局所長移開身子，因聽不懂達悟語，他右手貼在手槍上，站
在我們的眼前。如此的近距離，讓我們對那一把手槍的實質意義萬分
恐懼。神父站在原地，或許他沒想到西方的上帝，並非是全世人的上
帝，也不是我們達悟人的上帝，達悟語的說法是，天空的神（天
神）。神父厚厚的《聖經》裡的神學觀也是來殖民我們達悟人的神論
（沒有錯誤），西方人的天神觀。神父被排拒後有些茫然，但儀態依
然從容，於他只是短暫的挫傷。然而，我們幾位從那個時候起也開始
怕神父叫我們去教堂，讓上帝洗刷我們的罪惡罪過。我常問自己，為
何西方來的神父一進駐我們的島嶼，就說我們這群人是「罪人」，我
還在繼續質疑這句話。可是，我肯定我們自己，我們不是「罪人」。
就像那位警察所長說我們是「完整的野蠻人」，不是有「罪惡」的
人。當然，當時我們是不理解野蠻人的意涵。

男人們站了起來，黑臉孔，黑頭髮，如是從土壤裡初長嫩芽的地
瓜葉，有高有低的按著自己膝蓋韌性的力道伸展，每一個人把篩羅提
到腰間，手臂與肱部關節呈直角的位置，篩羅上的銀帽像是移動的銀
燈，按著最年長的年齡走，走一字形，秩序長幼井然，有時也像蚯蚓
的隊形緩緩的走向海邊灘頭，汪洋一片大海是這群，「完整的野蠻
人」朝拜的大殿宇。我們這些部落裡的小男孩也像是沒有被馴化過的
土狗，好奇的尾隨在他們身後，幾乎是全部落男男女女的族人一起出
動。其實環繞小島的六個聚落距離海邊只有數十多公尺而已，然後我
們在台灣來的囚犯築好的軍車走的石子路的邊上的馬鞍藤上坐好，觀
賞儀式的進行。視線所及的，離灘頭約是一百餘公尺的海面上，約有
數十艘的台灣漁船下錨棲息，避開強力東北季風的冷鋒面。

部落的男人行走的樣子如是扭動的蚯蚓走向海邊，眾人到了灘
頭，灘頭上還有很多艘的拼板船停放在海邊，每個人先把自身的篩羅
上的祭品放在沙灘上，然後提著各自的銀帽退到祭品後方，我們數算
下去做儀式的成人，約莫有五十幾位，這意味著我們部落裡還有五十
幾艘的拼板船 [16]，所有人坐了下來之後，由最年長的先發言，每個人
手上都握著刀子，刀子是一種禮俗，是解魚用的，也是解構豬身、羊
體用的，我們細心聆聽長者的話語 [17]。

蜘蛛網絲般的綿雨停歇了，風雲多了秋冬的涼意繼續吹向南方，
風影吹拂著略帶灰色憂鬱的汪洋，吹到海洋的斷層帶，海平線。我們
三人共用我的綠色外套禦寒，卡斯‧瓦勒說我們身體很大，像是畸形的
烏龜一身三個頭的怪樣，我們身後的神父偶爾用《聖經》輕輕敲我的
頭，示善意，也彷彿在暗示我們眼前的這個傳統儀式不是上帝創造似
的，我們以微笑回應。久久久的，成人們在商討什麼事情呢，我們這
些小鬼聽不到，也聽不懂的不知道，我們只注意自己的父親裝上祭祖
供品的篩羅是哪一個而已。此刻的情境氛圍完全被「鬼日」弄得陰
森，分駐所所長，以及兩位山地籍的警員也尾隨著觀看這群人的異風
異俗，我們也不知道他們在說什麼，因我們聽不懂華語，神父抱著
《聖經》繼續站立在我們的身後，我們這些小鬼當然也不知道神父腦
子裡想些什麼，但神父卻跟我們說達悟語：

Mayikamu do Kyukaisiniciyuo,amiyan so kasi.

「你們要來教堂，在星期日，有糖果。」

我們回頭看神父，他微笑，我們不回應的繼續關注自己的父親的
篩羅，那句話很有壓迫感，雖然神父有很慈祥、很俊美的臉，但我們
心中存有某種難言的，對白人的陌生恐懼。

一群人都蹲坐在砂礫上，面朝無盡的海洋，好似敘述著海洋不著
痕跡的無盡傳說，海洋不變的考驗人類的耐性的感覺。眾人終於起
身，秩序井然的沿著原來下去海邊的路轉身回部落，他們漸次的走上
來，面無特殊情緒的表現。就在這個時候，我們一群部落裡的小男孩
如螞蟻似的集體出巡，衝向灘頭奔跑，跑向自己的父親的篩羅。大人
跟我們說，當他們在說話的時候，天神、海神、祖靈就已經取走了祂
們的禮物，而大小魔鬼的食物就讓我們倒在石頭上，有山藥、刺薯、
芋頭、肉片。拿走自家的篩羅後，我們這些小鬼便奔跑的回部落家吃
早餐，落後者將被老魔鬼摸屁股，哇……大家提著篩羅奔跑。我喜歡
吃山藥，在山裡種植一到兩年才收成的根莖植物，只有在冬天才吃得
到的食物。我家的早餐就是這些，以及少許柴煙燻的豬肉乾、魚乾。

卡斯、米特、沙浪等我的好朋友，他們用姑婆葉包著跟我一樣的
早餐來到我家涼台，我也拿著我的食物去涼台。我家的涼台的背面與
面海的左邊，我父親運用竹竿夾住茅草當遮寒風、避雨，我們一面吃
山藥，吃魚乾，一方面回顧今早所發生的事，父親拿著大陶碗魚湯給
我們，恰巧此時神父走來我家，但他已脫下了神父袍，他對我們微
笑，然後進入我家，顯然是我父親請他來我家吃傳統食物的。

小島南邊的，我們部落在冬季的寒風襲來之際，在空無船隻的海
面，放射出灰暗色的荒涼，彼時給我十分莫名的親切感，好似汪洋隱
藏著許多的誘惑元素，譬如說，我們的父親出海船釣，釣回來許多的
魚，卡斯說，看不到海底，如何知道何處是魚兒的家？這個問題一直
困擾著我們兒時的想像，而我們眼前吃的魚乾是被柴薪煙火燻黑後的
半片魚身，有道很濃烈的柴煙味，鮮魚透過陽光曬，透過風吹乾，透
過柴煙燻才可保存，讓我們過冬天，但我們卻愛不釋手。我們每個人
的姑婆葉上都有一截約十到二十公分長，如球棒棒頭大的山藥，這是
我們最愛的根莖食物。我們吃山藥，也一口一口的共飲陶碗裡的魚乾
鹹湯，這種貧乏食物的口感讓我們在秋冬長大。

我們四人都穿著媽媽織的丁字褲，我們的上身穿的是台灣來的救
濟衣物，說是神父從台灣募來的，由台東加路蘭港十噸級的漁船，花
了十二個小時運來蘭嶼的，聽說船的運費是台東縣政府的錢，那是一
九六二年。除了我的綠色外套比較溫暖外，我朋友們穿的衣服都是卡
其色的襯衫，不保暖，我們於是靠在父親存留的乾枯的茅草邊休息，
閒聊關於魔鬼的故事。神父走出我家，在鋁製的水桶舀一手掌水漱
口，對我們微笑說：

Mabsuirana , yaken.

「很飽已經，我了。」我們也微笑，抿著嘴。

他的手掌握著《聖經》，還有一本學習達悟語的筆記簿，一有新
單字，他便記錄下來，他至少可以跟我父親很流利的說達悟話，關於
這一點，我們部落的那位漢人警察所長就差太遠太遠了，或者說是，
那漢人拒絕學習我們的語言，他是來管理我們島嶼部落的治安，但是
除了魔鬼外，我們沒有治安不好的問題，反而是他佩帶著手槍，讓我
們心魂不安。其實，我們怕神父，怕警察，但是我們更害怕的是，夜
間在我們部落遊走的孤魂野鬼。

「神父吃飽啦？」所長問。

「吃飽了啊！」

「你敢吃山胞 [18]的東西嗎？」

「好吃好吃呢！」神父答道。

陳所長不屑的表情，也可能來自於他那一絲凜凜氣勢都沒有的氣
宇，而表現的鼠目寸光的眼神，神父似乎很敏感的理解到此等漢人對
「山胞的」深度偏見，即使所長用繃帶緊緊裹著對山胞蔑視的眼睛，
神父也嗅得到，於是問了陳所長說：

「沒有村人邀你吃飯嗎？」

「我不吃山胞的食物。」
Another random document with
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Only Patsy Garvan remained.
Entombed alive!
Alone with the dead!
 CHAPTER IX.

IN THE NICK OF TIME.

It fell to the lot of Nick Carter, as frequently occurred, to be a sort of

connecting link between his two assistants, so uniting the result of their work
as to form the complete and unbreakable chain that helplessly shackled the
outlaws they were seeking.
It was after six o’clock when Nick, returning to his Madison Avenue
residence, learned that neither of them had arrived, nor any definite message
been received concerning their movements.
“Both men have picked up a trail worth following, and are so engaged, or
they would have sent in a report of some kind,” Nick reasoned, taking the
swivel chair at his desk. “They must have accomplished more than I, in that
case, since I was banking quite heavily on what I could learn from Archer,
the real-estate agent, concerning his relations with Deland. It was bad luck,
indeed, that he was out of town on this particular day. I’ll try his residence.
He may have returned by this time.”
Nick had been trying in vain, in fact, to get in communication with Mr.
John Archer, who had had charge of the Barker residence during its owner’s
absence. He now found, with much satisfaction, that he had met with
success.
The servant who answered his telephone call informed him that Mr.
Archer had arrived home and would talk with him in a moment. Scarce more
than that had elapsed when Nick heard the agent’s voice over the wire.
He at once informed him of what had occurred in the Barker residence,
and he then began to question him. He soon found, however, that Archer
could add but little to what already had been learned; that he had permitted
Deland to occupy the house because of a letter containing those instructions
from its owner, brought to him by Deland, and that he had not
communicated with Colonel Barker in regard to it, believing the letter to be
genuine and Deland entirely trustworthy.
“Did you recognize Colonel Barker’s writing, or is the letter
typewritten?” Nick inquired.
 “It is typewritten on paper bearing a cut of the Berlin hotel in which
Colonel Barker is living,” was the reply.
“Did you recognize the signature?”
“Perfectly, Mr. Carter.”
“It is a forgery, nevertheless.”
“That seems almost incredible,” Archer protested. “I am very familiar
with Colonel Barker’s signature. I have had charge, of both of his places at
times during many years.”
“Has he two places?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the other?”
“It’s the old homestead, out Fordham way,” said Archer. “Colonel Barker
grew up there and still spends part of each summer on the old place. It is
outside of the town and somewhat isolated. Nearly all of his family are
entombed in the old cemetery in that section.”
“Has Deland, or Vaughn, ever been out there?” Nick inquired.
“I think not, though we have talked of the place. There is nothing more I
can tell you.”
“I wish to see that forged letter,” said Nick. “I will call at your Broadway
office to-morrow morning.”
“Very well.”
“I then will go with you to the Barker residence.”
Nick’s face wore a frown when he hung up the receiver. He was thinking,
not of what he had just heard, but of the stolen Strickland treasures.
“The rascals may have taken them to that old homestead,” he muttered,
gazing intently at his desk. “Still, there would have been that same danger
that the undertaker’s wagon would be seen. The only really consistent place
to which they could have driven it is a graveyard. But that, on the other
hand, in view of its contents, seems utterly absurd and——”
Nick stopped short. His eyes suddenly lighted. He was hit with an idea
that had not occurred to him before.
“Entombed out there!” he muttered. “A tomb! By Jove, that may call the
turn.”
 Nick seized the telephone again and got the Fordham telephone
exchange. He learned after a few inquiries just where the old Barker place
was located, and that the sexton of the cemetery mentioned was one Jason
Dexter.
“He has a telephone in his house,” said the operator. “I will connect you
with him.”
“Do so, please,” Nick directed, then waited until he heard the sexton’s
voice.
“Hello!”
“Is that you, Mr. Dexter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Mr. Vaughn talking—Gerald Vaughn,” said Nick, proceeding in a
roundabout way to get the information he wanted.
“Oh, yes, I remember you,” Dexter returned. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing whatever. I merely want to thank you again for having opened
the Barker tomb for me this morning, and for your kind attentions.”
“Well, well, that is quite needless, Mr. Vaughn, I assure you. My duties
require no less of me.”
“I wanted to thank you again, nevertheless, and I feel very grateful. Good
night, sir.”
Nick did not wait for an answer. He hung up the receiver, shouted to
Joseph, the butler, and then hastened to don a woolen cap and a thick reefer,
into the pockets of which he thrust three revolvers.
“Have Danny here with the touring car as soon as possible,” he
commanded, when Joseph appeared at the office door.
The touring car, with Danny Maloney at the wheel, was at the curbing
outside five minutes later.
Thirty minutes later it stood in front of the small wooden dwelling in
which Jason Dexter resided, a few hundred yards from the old rural
cemetery of which he had charge. One of the front rooms was lighted,
denoting that the sexton still was at home.
“Put out the headlights, Danny,” Nick directed, while he sprang from the
car. “There is no danger of a collision in this lonely section. The rascals
might see our lights in front of this house, however, if they were to arrive to
transfer their hidden booty. We’ll take a back road, which I happen to know
flanks the farther side of the cemetery.”
“Out they go, chief,” returned Danny, the glare of the lamps on the lonely
road suddenly vanishing.
Nick entered the front yard of the house and rang the bell. It was
answered by the sexton himself, a somewhat bowed, gray man well into the
sixties.
It goes without saying, of course, that he was more than surprised when
Nick entered and introduced himself, telling him what had occurred and
what he suspected.
It then appeared that Deland had called on the sexton two days before,
stating that he was a relative of Colonel Barker and then was occupying his
Fifth Avenue residence. He further stated that his aunt had died suddenly
that morning, and that he wanted to place her remains in the Barker tomb for
a few days, until arrangements could be made to take her body to Virginia,
her native State, for burial.
“You suspected nothing wrong, I infer,” said Nick.
“Certainly not, Mr. Carter. Mr. Vaughn appeared to be a perfect
gentleman,” Dexter assured him, with rather rustic simplicity. “I consented,
of course, supposing he had a family right to use the tomb. I told him
Colonel Barker had a duplicate key, but he said he did not know where to
find it. Colonel Barker is abroad, you know.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“I then told Mr. Vaughn that I would open the tomb for him with my key
when he came with the body. He said that was just what he wanted, and I did
so quite early this morning. I do remember, now, that he would not permit
me to aid the undertaker and his assistant in handling the casket and boxes of
flowers, all of which were put in the tomb.”
“You now know why, of course,” Nick said, a bit dryly. “You would have
detected that the boxes did not contain flowers. Let me see your key to the
tomb.”
The sexton hastened to get it, and Nick examined it with his lens.
“Just as I suspected,” he exclaimed, almost immediately. “An impression
was taken of this key while you were at the tomb. It was taken in putty, or
some ingredient containing oil. There are traces of it on one side of the key.”
 “Well, well, this is most amazing.”
“Get your hat, Mr. Dexter, and show me where the tomb is located,” Nick
said abruptly. “I have an assistant outside. The crooks undoubtedly will
come to-night to remove their plunder. We can catch them in the act, and—
well, that will be their finish.”
It did not take them long, all three, to arrive at the door of the Barker
tomb, nor long for the sexton to unlock and remove the iron door.
Nick shot the beam of his search lamp into its gruesome depths.
“Great Scott!” cried Danny impulsively. “The treasures are gone, chief.”
“Not all of them,” said Nick, mystified for a moment. “Here is the box
which must have contained some of them. Unless empty, it——”
Danny uttered a shriek, and Nick recoiled involuntarily.
A groan from within the box had fallen with startling effect on the ears of
all. Then came a fierce kicking against the top of it.
“By gracious!” cried Nick, quick to guess the truth. “The rascals have
been and gone. But they have entombed either Chick or Patsy.”
He sprang into the tomb, shouting quickly and thumping on the long box:
“Keep cool! We’ll have you out in half a minute.”
It was done in less time, in fact. For Nick found that he could thrust his
fingers under one corner of the cover, and, with the strength of a giant, he
tore it off in an instant.
Patsy Garvan sat up in the box, in the glare of Nick’s searchlight, with his
face wearing a look of relief that words could not possibly describe.
“By Heaven!” Nick muttered. “Those curs shall pay dearly for this.”
“Gee! that was some glad sound, chief, when I heard your voice,” said
Patsy, after he had been liberated and the tomb relocked. “The rascals got me
—but now we’ll get them.”
“Tell me what occurred,” said Nick.
Patsy informed him with half a dozen breaths, adding quickly:
“They have been gone less than ten minutes. They are returning to
Margate’s place. We can reach there by the other road and without being
seen long they arrive.”
“Come on, then,” said Nick. “That’s the proper move.”
 Their run to the Margate place was made in twelve minutes. The car, with
lights extinguished, was concealed in a near, vacant lot. Returning to the
front of the old house to watch for the wagon, the three detectives scarce had
concealed themselves under a low wall, when a taxicab put in an appearance
and stopped in front of the house.
“Some of the gang, Patsy,” Nick murmured. “Follow me and we’ll take
them in at once.”
He strode out just as the chauffeur sprang down from his seat to aid two
women to alight.
“Stop a moment, chauffeur,” said Nick, reaching for his revolver. “Who
are your passengers and where did you——”
The chauffeur burst out laughing.
“Thundering guns!” he cried, removing his disguise. “Is it you, Nick?”
The chauffeur was Chick Carter, in the coat, hat, and goggles of Mullen,
with whom Chick had easily planned the subterfuge before the coming down
of the two much-wanted women in suite 710.
Five minutes later, Nell Margate and Fannie Coyle were in irons and
locked in a closet in the house, pending the arrival of the male members of
the gang.
When that occurred, some twenty minutes later, and the four crooks
alighted from the wagon containing the stolen treasures, four detectives
stepped into the driveway and confronted each, with a revolver ready, if
needed.
It was not needed, however, for the arrest was easily and quickly made.
Ten o’clock that evening saw every culprit locked in the Tombs, the first
step toward the punishment awaiting them.
It appeared later that Nell Margate had discovered the feasibility of the
robbery, that she had communicated with Fannie Coyle, then in London, and
that the latter then had rung Deland into the job, the latter going to Berlin
and cultivating the acquaintance of Colonel Barker, and successfully laying
his plans, as have appeared.
They were as successfully perverted by Nick Carter and his assistants,
and the gratitude and joy of Mr. Rudolph Strickland, when he saw his
cherished treasures being returned to his house, as Nick had promised, may
be far more easily imagined than described.
 It was a fixed habit of Nick Carter, however—that of keeping a promise.

THE END.
“The Gordon Elopement; or, Nick Carter’s Three of a Kind,” will be the
title of the long, complete story which you will find in the next issue, No.
155, of the Nick Carter Stories, out August 28th. In this story you will
read of the further adventures of the famous detective with Mortimer
Deland, the international crook. Then, too, you will also find an installment
of the serial now running in this publication, together with several other
interesting articles.
 SNAPSHOT ARTILLERY.

By BERTRAM LEBHAR.

(This interesting story was commenced in No. 153 of Nick Carter Stories. Back numbers can
always be obtained from your news dealer or the publishers.)
 CHAPTER IV.

HAWLEY’S CONTRIBUTION.

“Thanks, old man,” said the Camera Chap to Carroll, as the boy went off
to deliver this message. “But I hope this defiance of the police won’t get you
into any trouble?”
“I think not,” the editor replied. “You haven’t committed a murder, or any
crime of a serious nature, have you?”
“No, indeed,” Hawley assured him. “All I did was to take a snapshot. But
I wasn’t referring to trouble with the authorities. What I meant was that I
hope this won’t get you in bad with the owner of this paper. The chief of
police doesn’t happen to be a friend of his, does he?”
“No,” replied Carroll grimly. “I assure you that fat bully of a chief is far
from being a friend of mine.”
“But I said the owner of the paper,” Hawley protested.
Carroll grinned. “My dear Hawley, the owner of the Oldham Daily
Bulletin sits before you now.”
The Camera ’Chap stared at him in astonishment. “You?” he cried half
incredulously.
“Exactly,” chuckled Carroll. “I suppose it looks queer to you to see the
proprietor of the sheet holding down the job of city editor, but I am only
filling this chair during the absence of its regular occupant. My city editor is
laid up with an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, so I undertook to do his
work.”
Still Hawley appeared incredulous. Two years before, Fred Carroll had
been earning thirty dollars a week as a reporter on the New York Sentinel,
and the Camera Chap recalled that he had always been notoriously hard up
in those days. Where on earth could he have got hold of enough money to
buy a newspaper?
As though reading his thoughts, Carroll said, with a laugh: “I suppose
you’re wondering how I managed to raise the necessary dough to acquire
this progressive, aggressive, and fearlessly independent sheet? No need to
tell you that I didn’t save it out of the measly wages the Sentinel paid me.
The fact is, Hawley, I came into a little change after I got fired from the
Sentinel for getting them into that confounded libel suit. A wealthy relative
of mine over in England cashed in his chips, and mentioned me in his will to
the extent of fifteen thousand. I was tipped off that this paper was on the
market, and could be had at that figure, so I came here and bought it. There’s
the whole story in a nutshell—or pretty near the whole story.”
Hawley doubted no longer. He could see now that Carroll wasn’t joking,
and he had never known him to be guilty of falsehood.
“I’m tickled to death to hear this good news, old chap,” he said, grabbing
his friend’s hand enthusiastically. “Let me offer you my congratulations,
even though they’re tardy. You certainly are a lucky fellow.”
A wry smile came to Carroll’s face. “Not quite as lucky as you imagine,”
he said grimly. “Better take back your congratulations, Hawley. It is true that
I’m the owner of a newspaper now, but—you’re likely to meet me on Park
Row hunting for a job in the very near future.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” the Camera Chap inquired solicitously. “You
don’t mean to say that the paper isn’t a success, old man?”
Carroll shrugged his broad shoulders. “When I tell you that I had to hock
my watch yesterday in order to pay my board bill, you will doubtless gather
that the Oldham Daily Bulletin isn’t exactly a gold mine,” he replied dryly.
“Ye gods!” exclaimed Hawley. “And I always had an idea that newspaper
owners were bloated plutocrats.”
“Some are,” was the grim reply. “But I guess I’m far from being the only
New York newspaper man who has tried to run a small town daily and made
a fizzle of it.”
“What seems to be the main trouble?” the Camera Chap inquired. “I
should think that a paper with a motto like yours was bound to be a winner.
Progressive, aggressive, and fearlessly independent—that’s a mighty fine
catch line, Fred. The population of Oldham certainly ought to rally to the
support of a sheet which has such an attractive policy.”
The owner of the Bulletin shook his head. “Yes, they ought to—but they
don’t. The fact is, Hawley, that, from the standpoint of dollars and cents,
being aggressive and fearlessly independent in a town like this doesn’t pay.
The first thing I did after acquiring control of the Bulletin,” he went on, with
a frown, “was to declare war against the city government. From a financial
standpoint, that was a disastrous mistake.”
 “Why did you do it?” the Camera Chap inquired.
“Because,” replied Carroll, his frown deepening, “I simply couldn’t stand
for the methods of the gang which is running things in this town. They’re the
rawest, nerviest, crookedest bunch of grafters that ever had control of a city
government. Compared to them, New York’s old Tweed ring was a bunch of
angels. I made up my mind that the Bulletin was going to sweep them out of
office. I announced that intention in an editorial on my front page the very
first day the sheet appeared under my management.”
“That sounds interesting,” exclaimed Hawley, an appreciative flash in his
blue eyes. “What was the result?”
Carroll laughed grimly. “The result was that I lost pretty nearly all my
advertising. It seems that most of the big advertisers of this town are allied in
one way or another with that bunch of grafters at the city hall. I didn’t know
this when I started out to fight the administration. Although, even if I had
known it, it wouldn’t have made any difference,” he added, his strong under
jaw thrust forward aggressively. “I should have gone ahead just the same, of
course.”
“Bully for you, old man!” exclaimed the Camera Chap. “So those lobsters
tried to put you out of business by withdrawing their advertising, eh?”
“Yes; and that wasn’t all. That gang of grafters started in to retaliate by
using the powers of the city government against the Bulletin. They stayed up
nights thinking of ways to harass me. The police department, the fire
department, and all the departments have received orders to refuse to give
the Bulletin reporters any news. The police arrest the drivers of my delivery
wagons on all sorts of trumped-up charges whenever they get the chance.
The gas, water, and electricity department is always finding fault with
conditions in the Bulletin Building. These are only a few of the dirty tricks
those rascals have resorted to in their efforts to put me out of business.”
“And you’ve been fighting back all the time, of course?” inquired
Hawley anxiously.
Carroll looked at him reproachfully. “I thought you knew me too well to
ask such a superfluous question,” he said in a hurt tone. “Of course, I’ve
been hammering at them just as hard as I know how, and intend to keep it up
while there’s breath left in the Bulletin.
“But I’m afraid it’s a losing fight,” he went on sadly. “I don’t mind
admitting to you, old man, that they’ve got me groggy. Without any
advertising worth speaking of, and with my sources of news crippled, it
looks as if the days of the Bulletin were numbered, and its finish already in
sight.”
“How about your circulation?” the Camera Chap inquired. “Surely that
must have gained? You don’t mean to say that the people haven’t supported
you in this laudable fight?”
Carroll shrugged his shoulders. “Not so that you could notice it. It is true
that at first my campaign against the grafters got us a lot of new readers. But
the circulation figures soon dwindled. The population of Oldham seemed to
lose interest in the fight. Besides, I was discredited at the start.”
“Discredited! How?” the Camera Chap demanded in astonishment.
The proprietor of the Bulletin smiled grimly. “There’s a rival sheet here—
the Chronicle. It is the administration organ—which means, of course, that
its proprietor is hand and glove with that gang of crooks at the city hall. The
Chronicle happened to learn that I was formerly a reporter on the New York
Sentinel, and that I was discharged from that paper for getting it into a libel
suit. That information was pie to those crooks. The Chronicle published it on
its front page in red type. It gave all the details of that unfortunate libel suit,
insinuated that I had been forced to come to Oldham because no New York
newspaper would hire me after my discharge from the Sentinel, and warned
the public not to pay any attention to my ’base and slanderous attacks upon
the virtuous and public-spirited gentlemen who were giving Oldham the best
government it had ever enjoyed.’ Of course, this has hurt me a lot. The
Chronicle keeps it prominently displayed on its front page every day, and, as
I have said, I am pretty much discredited.”
“That was a dirty trick,” declared Hawley indignantly. “Who is the
proprietor of the Chronicle?”
“A lean old fox named Gale.”
“Gale!” the Camera Chap repeated, with an inflection of astonishment.
“That’s a queer coincidence. Doesn’t happen to be any relative of the
reporter by the same name on the staff of the New York Daily News, does
he, Fred?”
Carroll grinned. “Yes, Hawley, the proprietor of the Oldham Chronicle is
the father of your old enemy, Gale, of the News. I can assure you, he’s a chip
of the young block, too—several chips, in fact.”
 The Camera Chap frowned. “I recall now that somebody once told me
that Gale’s father was the proprietor of a small paper,” he said. “I guess,
Fred, it was the younger Gale who supplied the Oldham Chronicle with the
information about that unfortunate libel suit of yours.”
“I haven’t the slightest doubt of that,” Carroll answered. “He and I never
did get along together when I was on Park Row. In fact, I had occasion to
punch his head only a few days before I got fired from the Sentinel. I guess
he was tickled to death to have a chance to get back at me.”
Their conversation was interrupted at this point by a young man whose
face wore a depressed, anxious expression as he stepped up to the editorial
desk.
“Mr. Carroll,” he said gloomily, “I’m sorry to have to tell you that we’re
going to be badly scooped in the next issue.”
“How so, Parsons?” the acting city editor demanded sharply.
“There’s been a big burglary in town,” announced Parsons, who was the
Bulletin’s police reporter.
“A burglary—where?” Carroll demanded.
“That’s what I can’t find out, sir. I overheard two detectives talking about
it together at headquarters early this morning, but as soon as they caught
sight of me they dropped the subject in a hurry. I’ve been scurrying around
town all morning in the hope of finding somebody who could tell me who
was robbed, but I haven’t been able to pick up anything. I tried to get an
interview with Chief Hodgins, but he refused, as usual, to talk to a Bulletin
man.”
“Humph!” Carroll grunted. “And you think the Chronicle has the yarn,
Parsons?”
“I am quite sure they have, sir,” was the mournful reply. “One of the
detectives admitted to me that Burns, the Chronicle’s police reporter, had all
the details, and a long interview with Chief Hodgins. I’m awfully sorry, sir. I
hope you don’t blame me for falling down on the yarn.”
Carroll got up and placed his hand on his reporter’s shoulder. “No, I don’t
blame you at all, old chap. Considering the difficulties under which you are
working, I can’t reasonably hold it against you if you get scooped
occasionally on a police story. Keep pegging away, and don’t get
discouraged. Better spend the rest of the day trying to get a line on this
burglary yarn. You may be fortunate enough to run into somebody who can
give you some information about it. If not—well, I guess we’ll have to grin
and bear it.”
A chuckle from the Camera Chap caused him to turn to that young man
in indignant astonishment.
“What’s the matter with you?” Carroll demanded irritably. “I don’t see
anything to be amused about.”
“Don’t you?” rejoined Hawley, with a grin, taking a plate holder from his
camera and laying it on the desk. “I think you’ll be amused, too, Fred, when
I tell you what I’ve got here. Would you mind handing me a pad and
pencil?”
“What are you going to do?” Carroll demanded wonderingly, as he
handed over the desired writing implements.
“I’m going to write a heading for the burglary story which will appear on
the front page of the Bulletin’s next issue,” the Camera Chap replied.
“But we haven’t got the burglary story?” Carroll protested, with a puzzled
frown.
“Pardon me, but I have. It’s here in this plate holder,” declared Hawley. “I
don’t mean to say that we’ve got the details of the larceny—but we’ve got
something just as good—or better. Wait until I’ve written my heading, and
I’ll explain.”
He wrote rapidly on the pad, and handed the result to Carroll.
“Writing headings is a little out of my line,” he remarked; “but I think this
will about do.”
Carroll stared wonderingly at these words.
“There Was a Burglary in Town Yesterday, and Here’s the Reason Why.”
“Underneath that heading,” the Camera Chap explained, in response to
Carroll’s inquiring stare, “will go the snapshot which I took at police
headquarters a few minutes ago. It’s a picture of Oldham’s chief of police,
fast asleep at his desk.”
 CHAPTER V.

A TELLING SHOT.

Chief of Police Hodgins let out a bellow of rage the next morning when
his startled gaze rested upon the front page of the Oldham Daily Bulletin.
The editor of that belligerent sheet had eagerly availed himself of
Hawley’s snapshots and the latter’s suggestion as to how to use them. Both
negatives had turned out excellently, and, although there wasn’t a great deal
of difference between the two poses, Carroll decided to use them both, so as
to make as big a showing as possible. They appeared side by side at the top
of the page, and above them, stretched across the full width of the page, was
the heading which the Camera Chap had composed.
Beneath the cuts was an editorial from the pen of Fred Carroll, written in
very short sentences, and with many words capitalized—a style of editorial
which he had copied from the New York Sentinel. The first paragraphs were
as follows:
 “The above genuine snapshots tell their own story. They were taken at
police headquarters at two o’clock yesterday afternoon. They show our
chief of police in a thoroughly characteristic pose. A brief study of these
interesting, and genuine photographs will enable the reader to understand
why CRIMINALS regard Oldham as their HAPPY HUNTING GROUND.
“Most police officials believe in keeping their eyes open and their
mouths closed while on duty. Our chief of police reverses that old-
fashioned policy. As these snapshots show, he does HIS police duty with his
eyes CLOSED and his mouth WIDE OPEN. Citizens and property owners may
not approve of this original policy, but, no doubt, BURGLARS, STRONG-ARM
MEN, and other CROOKS heartily indorse it. Of course, they are thoroughly
satisfied with our SOMNOLENT chief of police.
“Night before last there was a daring burglary, committed in this town.
Bold thieves got away with plunder worth many thousand dollars. We
frankly confess that the Bulletin is not, as yet, in possession of the full
details of that burglary. We tried to find out about the crime, but were
unsuccessful. When a Bulletin representative called on Chief Hodgins, to
ascertain the particulars, he found him SNORING. The Bulletin representative
was too polite to disturb the chief’s daylight slumbers, so, instead of
interviewing him, he took his picture. That could be done without WAKING
him. Besides, our representative thought that the taxpayers of Oldham
would find these snapshots much more interesting and illuminating than a
mere detailed account of the burglary.”
There were several more paragraphs couched in the same strain. Chief
Hodgins read it through to the very end. Then, in a paroxysm of fury, he
tore the paper in small pieces, growling, as he did so, like a terrier worrying
a rat.
“I’d give a whole lot to have that camera feller here right now,” he
muttered. “Confound these fools for letting him get away! They’re a lot of
boneheads!”
This criticism of his subordinates was scarcely just, in view of the fact
that the chief himself had led the squad of police which laid in wait for
Hawley outside the Bulletin Building with the intention of placing that
young man under arrest as soon as he stepped out of the newspaper office.
Not having a warrant, they had not dared to force their way into the
editorial rooms, so the chief and his men had stationed themselves outside,
confident that sooner or later the Camera Chap must come out and fall into
their clutches.
But Carroll, suspecting this ambush, showed Hawley how to make his
escape by means of a window at the rear of the building, and the Camera
Chap was on his motor cycle, dashing up the steep road which led to his
host’s mountain retreat, long before the police became aware of the fact that
they had been outwitted.
Chief Hodgins was, of course, as much to blame as any of his men for
this fiasco; but as it was some relief to his feelings to abuse his subordinates
for their “gross carelessness,” he did not hesitate to do so. The chief’s bump
of logic and his sense of fairness were so underdeveloped that they were
almost minute quantities.
Just as he got through with his performance of savagely rending the
offending copy of the Bulletin into small pieces, the telephone on his desk
rang. It was the voice of the mayor which came to him over the wire. The
mayor’s name was Martin Henkle. He was a big, burly man, whose voice
when he was angry was so gruff that in comparison Chief Hodgins’ manner
of speech was sweetly melodious. By that token, his honor was exceedingly
peeved now.
“Is that you, Hodgins?” he growled over the wire.
“Yes, Mr. Mayor,” was the meek reply.
The head of the police department had turned very pale. Mayor Henkle’s
wife was his second cousin, but in spite of this relationship he stood in great
fear of his honor.
“Huh! Seen this morning’s Bulletin yet?” the latter inquired hoarsely.
“Yes, sir, I have,” replied the chief, glaring at the fragments of paper on
the floor. “And of all the dastardly outrages that ever—-”
“A fine spectacle you’ve made of yourself!” came the snarling
interruption. “You big, fat-headed boob, I gave you credit for possessing a
little more sense, or I’d never have appointed you. The whole town is
laughing over those pictures. Everybody I met this morning on my way to
the city hall was reading the Bulletin. You’ve made a laughingstock of my
administration.”
 “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor,” said Hodgins humbly. “The fact is, that rascally
photographer took an unfair advantage of me. I wasn’t really asleep, of
course. I had—er—just closed my eyes for a minute, thinking out a scheme
for catching those burglars—I always sit with my eyes closed, you know,
when I’m thinking—and before I knew what was happening, that fellow
sneaked in and took those snapshots.”
The chief had invented this explanation on the spur of the moment. It
sounded so good to him that he was just congratulating himself upon his
ingenuity when a snort of contempt from the other end of the wire filled
him with consternation.
“That won’t do,” growled the mayor. “You’ll have to think up a better
one than that, Hodgins, if you want to get away with it. Anybody with a
grain of common sense can tell from those pictures that you were fast
asleep. Men who think with their eyes closed don’t open their mouths, too.
Besides, that fellow took two pictures. You must have been in a mighty
sound sleep, or you’d have heard him come into the room and nabbed him
before he had a chance to take the second.”
“Well, perhaps I dozed off a little, Mr. Mayor,” the disconcerted
policeman admitted. “I’ll not deny it. You see, I hadn’t had much sleep the
night before, and I haven’t been feeling very well lately. After all, I guess it
ain’t such a terrible crime for a hard-working public official to take a short
nap in his private office.”
“You should have locked your office door, you big, blundering baboon!”
snarled the mayor. “I’m not kicking so much at your falling asleep at your
desk as I am at your permitting the Bulletin to catch you napping. The
whole town is grinning at you, and, of course, I—being responsible for your
appointment—have got to bear the brunt of it. I don’t mind being roasted,
but I can’t stand being laughed at.
“And, what’s more, I don’t intend to stand for it!” the mayor went on, a
menace in his tone. “I tell you, Hodgins, you’ve got to square yourself with
the public regarding those pictures if you want to keep your job. I don’t see
how you’re going to do it—there’s no denying the evidence of the camera
—but unless you can swing public sentiment your way, I’ll be compelled to
remove you from office. So you’d better get busy.”
The chief of police started to protest, but found himself addressing a
“dead” wire. The mayor, after delivering this ultimatum, had abruptly
disconnected.
For several minutes Chief Hodgins paced the floor of his private office, a
scowl upon his round, fat face.
“Wish I had that Camera Chap here right now,” he muttered. “I’d twist
his confounded neck. Square myself with the public! How am I going to do
that?”
Then suddenly his face lighted up. “Guess I’ll go and have a talk with
my friend Gale, of the Chronicle,” he mused. “He ought to be able to help
me out of this trouble. When it comes to clever tricks, there ain’t an editor
in the country is equal to that chap. Ten to one he’ll be able to dope out a
way to turn the tables on that miserable rag of a Bulletin.”